


Contingencies of War

by glacis



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-27
Updated: 2010-01-27
Packaged: 2017-10-06 17:58:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/56320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glacis/pseuds/glacis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Redemption for Lucius.  AU after book 4; no OotP spoilers.  For there is nothing more sacred to a Malfoy than the continuance of the line.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Contingencies of War

Contingencies of War by seeker.  Rated PG13 for violence.  No copyright infringement intended.  A/U after book 4; no OotP spoilers.

 

A Malfoy is never caught unprepared.  Nor unaware.  A Malfoy strategizes for every possibility from the optimum to the disastrous; God-given right and sheer determination bound with generations of commanding talent ensure that most campaigns end in Malfoy victory.

Unfortunately, Malfoy wasn't running this war.  Voldemort was, and the Dark Lord had grown increasingly unstable as his plans to rule the Wizarding world unraveled.  Too much of his attention focused on one sixteen-year-old schoolboy and not nearly enough was directed at those who posed a real and present danger.  This obsession had grown over the past few years until Lucius Malfoy knew, in the end, Voldemort's short-sightedness, wild temper and unbridled hatred would cripple the dream before it could be born.

A Malfoy never fought on the losing side.  If he did, he made absolutely certain he had a contingency plan.

Long before Voldemort siphoned off the Potter brat's blood and returned to a version of corporality, from the first time the Dark Lord fell, Lucius crafted those plans.  Throughout the years, as Voldemort proved himself insane, Lucius acted upon them.  He was simply covering all contingencies, until he was forced out of the shadows.

For the one thing a Malfoy values above all else is continuance of the Malfoy line.  When Voldemort threatened that, Lucius Malfoy defected.  Openly.  Spectacularly.

It wasn't his choice.

It was his responsibility.

For as long as he was able he played his part, rescued his old friend when needed, and played both sides of the game.  Until his hand was forced, and he took the only course he could that would ensure his son had a world to inherit.

In retrospect, Lucius would point at circumstance for taking him from the Dark Lord's side at the crucial moment.  In the past several months Severus had skated too near the edge, piqued Voldemort's suspicions too many times, and Lucius had risked too much to divert the Dark Lord's attention.  When the deception was uncovered, he was powerless to stop it.

Sweeping in from his latest errand, a fruitless mission to secure at least neutrality from yet another contingent of magical creatures who owed their allegiance to Dumbledore, Lucius muttered, "Damned impertinent Goblins" under his breath as he stripped off his gloves and hat, flinging them on the side table and stalking through the hall toward the library.  Halfway there, a cut-off scream interrupted his internal grumbling.

It wasn't unusual.  Prisoners at the Death Eaters' northernmost headquarters often screamed.  The location, just outside Carlisle, was chosen both for the symbolism of the Giant's grave (no matter that the Muggles thought it was merely a rock formation) and for the relative isolation.  It wasn't even particularly unusual for Lucius to recognize the screamer's voice.

It was extremely unusual for such recognition to stop him in his tracks.

Frozen in the hall, ears straining, he listened to the tortured cries coming from Arthur Weasley's throat.  The chorus of denial and curses weakened, and Lucius stepped closer.  He hadn't expected such a bold, or perhaps foolish, move from Voldemort.  Every sense attuned to his surroundings, concentration split between listening to Arthur squeal and watching out for anyone watching him, Lucius crept closer and silently edged the door open.

Macnair, of course; there were few who enjoyed a good round of getting his hands bloody as he.  Lucius felt his lip curl, then froze again as Macnair growled, "The wards!  Last warning you'll get, before I really make it hurt.  Give me the secret to the wards at Hogwarts!"

Lucius' stomach clenched.  If Voldemort got those wards down, it wouldn't matter who stood in the way.  Anyone and everyone would be sacrificed to give Voldemort his Holy Grail.  The Potter brat would likely be the only one to survive that foray, given his proven talent for escaping certain death.  Lucius had the unsettling premonition that Draco would be one of the casualties.

Determined to divert the questioning before Arthur broke, for no matter how strong, any man would break under the correctly applied pressure, Lucius gave up stealth for imposing presence and stalked into the room.

Just in time to hear Arthur croak, "Snape?" in a tone that made it perfectly clear he considered Severus Snape a savior, not an enemy.

Lucius stopped mid-stride, mentally cursing the sweep of his cape that would cause Arthur, eyes half-blinded with blood and tears, to mistake him for an ally.  It was too late.

"Why'd you think Snape'd help you out?" Macnair asked sharply.

Arthur winced.  So did Lucius, but Lucius hid it better.  Macnair cackled, sounding immensely pleased.  Turning to the fire, he asked gleefully, "Did you hear, my Lord?  It's true!  Snape is a traitor!  You were right to be wary!"

"Of course I was," the chilling hiss responded from the flames.  "Continue.  Tell me immediately when you have the information I require."

Lucius heard the faint echo of a subservient "My Lord" through the distortion of the fire, and to his relief Voldemort turned away from the torture scene.  Wind whistled through the room as the Dark Lord's presence seeped from it, the ambient temperature of the air rising a few degrees immediately.  Lucius closed his eyes for a moment, took a deep breath, and opened his mouth to apprise Macnair of his presence.

Again before a sound could escape him, Macnair applied his wand to the center of Arthur's chest, and whispered a curse.

Arthur bit through his lower lip to keep the words back, but it was for naught.  Ancient language ripped from his tongue, and Lucius nearly bit his own lip through when he realized that Arthur did, indeed, know the key to the Hogwarts' wards, and was, unfortunately, giving them away.  Not freely, hard won with pain, but giving them up nonetheless.

The two specks of good fortune Lucius had to work with were that Voldemort was no longer watching, and Macnair was denser than a plank so hadn't realized precisely what Arthur was trying to say.

Before he could, Lucius leveled his wand and whispered, "Avada Kedavra."

A razor-thin green light shot from the end of his wand and impacted Macnair between the shoulder blades.  A wave of Lucius' wand and a displacement charm immediately followed the killing curse, pulling Arthur's bound, bloodied figure from beneath the corpse of his torturer before it could crush him.

"L-l-lucius?" Arthur stuttered as Lucius flicked his wand again, the bloodied ropes falling from limbs bound so long they were deadened.

"Quiet," Lucius hissed in response, reaching down and hefting Arthur to his feet.  Unsurprisingly, Arthur swayed, and Lucius wrapped an arm around him.  Wand to the ready, he swept the room with a glance, listening for sounds of discovery.  "We've no time," he said quietly, directly in Arthur's ear.  "If you want to live through this, argue later.  Do what I tell you now."

Blue eyes blinked up at him through blood-matted lashes, a disconcertingly piercing look, then Arthur nodded and attempted to stand up on his own.  On his second try he was steadier, and Lucius nodded approval.

"Gently now," he said, keeping one hand on Arthur and his wand clenched defensively in the other.  "Hold on."  He barely waited for Arthur to wrap both hands around his arm before he apparated.

Knowing Arthur was in no shape for the more rigorous distance to Hogsmead, and needing time to alert both their households of the imminent danger from Voldemort, Lucius took them to his northern escape, a castle in Cumbria that had been in the Malfoy family for seven hundred years.  Invisible to Muggles and wizard folk alike, due to an excellent array of wards, it was the perfect hideaway.

Or so he thought, until they apparated in to find a Muggle-hunting party of high-ranking Death Eaters already in residence.

Cursing under his breath, dragging Arthur behind him into one of the many secret passageways cutting through the walls, Lucius damped down his rage at the use of his property without his knowledge, once more angered at the arrogance of Voldemort.  Knowing they had little time before they were discovered, he crept silently through the dark corridor and cautiously stepped out into an unused chamber.  In the background the screams of the Muggles could be heard, echoing on the gray stone walls.

"How are you holding up, Arthur?" he asked, reaching for the floo powder on the mantel.  Just enough for their needs; two quick communications and one quick escape.

"I'll live," Arthur grunted through his teeth, followed immediately and predictably by, "Why are you doing this?"

"Later," Lucius fended him off, then threw some powder in the fire.  "Malfoy Manor," he said clearly.  A moment later he stuck his head in the flames.

Narcissa wasn't alone.  Her eyes widened when she saw him, and her automatic smile was stiffer than usual.

"Hello, my love," he said smoothly.  "An unforeseen contingency has kept me at the office.  I don't know when I'll be home.  Perhaps you should go on without me this evening."

He knew by the almost imperceptible nod that she'd gotten his message.  Run, fast, and don't look back, for all is revealed.  Go to a safe place and don't come out until I come to get you.  Her smile softened.

"Goodbye, my dear," she told him.  He smiled in return.

"Goodbye."  He pulled his head from the fire and turned to Arthur.  "Warn your family.  Do it quickly.  We have to be gone from here before we're discovered."

The crescendo of screams broke, leaving behind an echoing silence before it was disturbed by a wizard's laughter.  Arthur looked green beneath the blood now dried on his skin.

Taking a pinch of floo powder, Arthur tossed it in the flames and said shakily, "The Burrow."

Lucius instinctively stepped back into the shadows.  Molly Weasley's shriek of recognition and horror was regrettably loud, and Lucius hissed, "Quickly!"

"No time to talk now, Molly-luv, but you've got to get out of there.  You-know-who's on the way so get out now!  Meet me up north."

Before Molly could howl again, Lucius grabbed Arthur by the coat and hauled him out of the flames.  Arthur turned on him, and Lucius caught the fist before it landed.

"They're coming," he said calmly, and indeed, they were.  Footsteps rang on the stone steps.  Their time was up.

Throwing the last of the floo powder in the fire, Lucius threw his arm about Arthur's shoulders and led him into the flame.  "The Black Thistle," he commanded, and a moment later they were twisting their way through the floo network toward one of the lesser known apothecaries in Hogsmeade.

His appointed safe house cum meeting place with Severus.  Who wouldn't be expecting him, but who had left strict instructions that the room downstairs should be left secured and empty at all times.  He also left a few emergency healing potions there, a good thing, given the state Arthur was in when he rolled off the hearth.

Lucius brushed the soot off hastily and turned to Arthur, who was slow to get up from his huddle in the middle of the floor.  Pointing his wand at the worst of the wounds, Lucius muttered a sanguinaria charm to staunch the flow, then reached for a handful of potion bottles.  One for shock, one for stamina, one to numb the pain without rendering the victim unconscious; each after the other he tipped down Arthur's throat.

Arthur was still hacking after the last one when pain sliced through Lucius' left arm, nearly paralyzing him.

"No!" he spat through clenched teeth.  "He knows."  Ignoring Arthur's questioning look, Lucius grabbed another bottle, one that dampened the magic running through his body.  Unfortunately this would hobble his defensive ability, but it also muted the bone-shattering pain of the Dark Lord's angry call.  Throwing the empty bottle down, he glared down at Arthur.  "Can you move?"

"Yes," Arthur replied, and proved it by getting to his feet and heading for the door with more energy than Lucius himself could muster.  "Where are we going?"

"Hogwarts," Lucius told him.

Arthur stopped dead in his tracks.  "No bloody way," he growled.  "I don't know what your game is, Lucius, but I'm not taking you inside the wards at that school!"

Lucius could have throttled him.  Wanted to hex him but wasn't sure he had that much magic left available, muffled as it was by the potion.  "You have put Severus Snape in mortal peril, and we are going to make damned sure he gets fair warning.  We also have to tell Dumbledore the wards may be compromised.  You babbled enough of the foundation spell to tip off Voldemort to a way through them, and I've no doubt there was a recording spell on the room.  Macnair can't tell what he knows, but Voldemort can read it on the air, and if we don't get there before the Death Eaters do, your son AND mine will die."

Without another word, Lucius stepped around Arthur and out the door.  A moment later he heard Arthur walking behind him.  Not wasting the time to gloat, Lucius told him, "You'll have to be our magical defense.  That potion I took renders me as useless as a Squib."

"Why the hell did you take it then?" Arthur asked, appalled.

Pushing back his sleeve, Lucius held up his arm.  The Mark was swollen and livid, weeping blood around the edges, pulsing in the center.  "To put a lid on this until I'm able to do something about it."

He didn't wait while Arthur vomited in the gutter behind him.  He also didn't tell Arthur that he had no idea whatsoever what he COULD do about it.  He'd worry about that after he'd warned Severus and Dumbledore and made certain his son was safe.  If he lived that long.

When the trees cut off the last sight of Hogsmeade, Lucius put out a hand to stop Arthur's forward lurch.  Peering about for pursuit, seeing none, Lucius took a chance and whistled, a soft low sound that seeped through the air.  Arthur opened his mouth to ask yet another question, but before he could, a large gray winged horse stepped from the trees.

"Alsvid," Lucius greeted him politely.  "We beg leave to rest upon your strength if you will carry us."  The Granian tossed its shining mane once in agreement, then bent one massive foreleg.  The graceful wings folded close to the sleek body, and Lucius bowed his thanks.  "Come along, Arthur."

"Hallucinating," Arthur muttered behind him, but come along he did, scrambling gingerly atop the broad back.  "I'm bloody hallucinating.  First Malfoy saves my skin then Pegasus comes out of the forest to give us a lift."

The horse gave an irritated whicker, and Lucius told him, "Please, Arthur, he's Norse, not Greek.  Now do be quiet and hold on!"  The last few words were a shout as the great wings unfurled and beat the air, lifting them precipitously off the ground.

It was a fast, incredibly cold, oddly smooth ride.  Lucius wrapped one hand in the gleaming mane and held on to Arthur's wrists with the other, clasped desperately around his middle as they were.  Not far from Hogwarts' outer wards, Lucius pressed his right knee gently into Alsvid's shoulder, and they began their descent.

Once on the ground again, Lucius jumped lightly to the grass while Arthur slid gracelessly to his knees next to the horse.  Ignoring the incredulous muttering still issuing from his companion in flight, Lucius turned to the Granian and gently stroked the silky muzzle.

"Thank you," he said softly.  One pointed ear twitched his way.  "Once again you have saved me.  I am in your debt."  That earned him an affectionate nuzzle, before the horse stepped back, shook out his wings, and took to the air again.  In a moment, he was gone.

Lucius turned to find Arthur, back on his feet, arms akimbo, wand in one hand, looking quite at the end of his tether.  "I want some answers, Lucius, and I want them now!" he bellowed.

"Later," was all Lucius had time to tell him, before pushing Arthur out of the way of the attacking Death Eater coming up fast behind him.  "Use your wand!" he yelped, then ducked out of the way of a fast-moving hex.

His Mark throbbed in sympathy with the attackers, three of them, closing fast.  Lucius ignored it and pulled a dagger from the sheath inside his left boot.  Twisting below and to the side as the Death Eater charged, Lucius kicked up with his right leg and caught the wizard fully to the side of the knee.  With a wet crunching sound and a choked scream, the attacker fell.

One fist to the hair, a quick pull back of the head, a sideways slice with the dagger, and the scream ended as abruptly as it began.

Plunging the blade into the earth to clean it roughly, Lucius turned back to the battle.  By this time Arthur had come out of his shock and joined the fight, taking down the second Death Eater with a crippling curse.  The third one was upon him before he could stop the rush, and Lucius watched the combat closely until he saw his opening.  Uncoiling from the ground with the swiftness of a striking serpent, he thrust the dagger hard.  It bit deep, between the ribs and up, rupturing the lung and heart.  The wizard thrashed and jerked, his wand waving wildly, and Lucius couldn't duck in time to avoid the curse.

Pain blossomed in his side, running along his nerves to his spine and radiating out from there to his extremities.  Clenching his jaw, pushing himself past the pain for as long as he could, Lucius reached toward the twitching corpse.  Ripping the dagger free, Lucius moved to the sole surviving Death Eater, still groaning loudly from the effects of Arthur's curse.  It was the work of a moment to slit his throat as well.  Lucius quickly cleaned the blade on the edge of the stained white robe and returned the dagger to its sheath.

"Good God, man, what have you done?"

Lucius sighed.  "What had to be done, Arthur," he said wearily, as the tendrils of pain wrapped tighter and tighter around him.  "Now you have to finish the job."  He curled over suddenly, clutching his torso as if to contain the agony now flaring through his muscles.  "Go... warn Severus... tell Albus..."  He gasped his most precious charge with the last of his breath.  "Keep my son safe."

Dimly through the deluge of pain, he felt Arthur pulling at his arm, trying to lift him.  Wasting time.  Wasting their chance.  Their only chance.  He wished he had strength in him to curse Arthur for his stupid nobility and useless heroics... until he felt a slight tingle in response to the hex moving through him that had nothing to do with pain.  The potion was wearing off, as if the magical attack had triggered his innate magic in a last-ditch attempt to save him.  Forcing his mind to focus on survival, a Malfoy speciality, he suddenly grinned.

Arthur dropped his arm and stepped back in sheer surprise.  Or perhaps it was because the grin resembled rictus more than amusement.  No matter.  It gave Lucius room to move.

"If you feel you must carry me," he wheezed, "allow me to lessen the burden."  He concentrated all his gathering magic, ignoring the flare of agony from the Mark, and forced it down into his bones, feeling the change melt over him.

As Arthur hesitantly lifted him and began to run toward Hogwarts, Lucius curled his paws in against his chest and tucked his tufted ears against Arthur's neck.  At least in this form the Dark Mark didn't hurt.  Now if only Arthur could get them to the school before he bled to death, they might be able to salvage something from this farce after all.

More than once in the stumbling end to their flight, agony piercing him with every clumsy jolt, Lucius wished Arthur wasn't such a stereotypical Gryffindor and had just left him to die.  Of course he didn't actually mean it; giving in to death was surrender, and Malfoys didn't surrender.  That didn't stop him from wishing it.  Repeatedly.

From inside his haze of pain, his preternaturally sharp ears picked up the conversation over his head.  Under other circumstances it might have been funny.  Arthur threw himself at the doors of Hogwarts, screaming for help at the top of his lungs.

Given that he was covered in blood and bruises, carrying a bleeding wild cat in his arms, he no doubt scared the children in the front hall half to death.  Hagrid was the first to see them, coming round the side from the yard.

"Lord!" he exclaimed, huge hands automatically reaching for Lucius, who thought perhaps he should hiss and scratch.  But something in his animal self recognized a kindred spirit in Hagrid, and he could only lie in Arthur's arms and pant.  "Lemme help ye wit' that!"

To his credit, Arthur refused.  "No!  Pomfrey!  Animagus!  Dumbledore!  Help!!"  His voice grew louder with each word until he was bellowing, hurting Lucius' delicate ears and pulling a hiss from him.

Hagrid stood there with a befuddled look on his hairy face.  Unable to help himself, Lucius gave a reassuring purr.  Once he started he couldn't seem to stop; he'd never been gravely wounded in his feline form before, but it appeared his natural response to injury was purring until his fur shook.

He was pondering this odd phenomenon, trying not to pass out from pain, when Dumbledore sailed down the stairs, his old bat of a deputy at his side.

"Arthur, please, this way."  He placed a hand on Arthur's shoulder, inches from Lucius' head, and Lucius shuddered at the wave of magical support that poured off him.

It felt good, strengthening, cleansing; it felt horrible, as the dark magic branded on his soul responded with loathing, redoubling the output of wrath from Voldemort; it nearly knocked him unconscious as the two warred in his pain-wracked body.  Unable to stop himself he gave a piteous, wavering yowl.

"And who is this?" Dumbledore rumbled as the mediwitch Pomfrey flew down the stairs toward them, levitating a stretcher behind her and scattering curious students in front of her.  Beside Dumbledore, McGonagall's eyes narrowed, and Lucius spat in hostile response.  "Oh, my," he said wonderingly, "what... unusual eyes you have.  I don't believe I've ever seen a Northern Lynx with silver eyes."  Dumbledore's own eyes were twinkling in quite a disgusting manner, and Lucius told him so.

"What is this caterwauling?" Pomfrey asked impatiently as she bustled up to them.  "Hagrid, do take the animal--"

Lucius screeched at her, one paw swatting, claws extended, as Arthur cuddled him distressingly close to his chest, nearly suffocating Lucius and causing such pain to arc through him Lucius could only wail louder.

"No, wizard, friend, animagus," Arthur gasped.

"I don't believe Hagrid is the best choice for his care," Dumbledore added.

"More than adequate," McGonagall sniped, rolling her eyes at Dumbledore's chiding look.

At which point Arthur made the argument moot by swaying sideways and fainting, still clutching Lucius to his chest.  Pomfrey shot the stretcher beneath them and, happily, Arthur landed on his back so he didn't crush Lucius to death.  Lucius squirmed, mewed unhappily, and resumed his distressed purr.

Curious faces blurred on the sidelines as they raced to the infirmary.  Lucius tried to look out for his son, tried to find his friend, but saw neither Draco nor Severus.  Blackness gathered at the edges of his vision as he lost ground to the magical battle taking place inside him.

Once they were transferred to a cot in the infirmary, Dumbledore reached down and gently pried Arthur's arms away from Lucius as Pomfrey cast diagnostic spells over Arthur's bed.

"Well, someone knew something about triage.  The worst of the internal bleeding's been stopped, and his system shows signs of medicinal potions..."  She continued her monolog as Dumbledore reached for Lucius.  Before his hands actually touched fur, he asked softly, "May I?"

Lucius reached up and licked the closest hand.  Dumbledore sighed, lifted him with extreme care, and placed him on the cot next to Arthur's.  He gently stroked Lucius' fur, each touch easing the pain from the hex eating away at him, and Lucius found himself breathing easily for the first time in too many hours.

"What a nasty mess you've gotten yourself into," Dumbledore said, but Lucius didn't know if he was talking to Arthur or Lucius himself.  "I wonder..."  Turning to Pomfrey, who'd stopped talking to herself and was applying various healing charms to Arthur's unconscious person, he asked, "When might we expect Arthur to awaken and regale us with his adventures, Poppy?"

"Could be hours yet, Albus," she answered tersely.  "He's very badly off."

That wouldn't do, Lucius thought.  They didn't have time.  He had to warn them.  Now.  For Draco.  For Severus.  For all of them.

Gritting his teeth until his jaw nearly cracked, tensing every muscle in his body, fighting pain and exhaustion and the malicious magic still attacking him, Lucius threw himself into transforming.

It hurt.  Unbelievably.  The Mark on his arm flared as if a firebrand were thrust into it.  The hex ate at his ribs and hip and side until he wanted to claw his own flesh from his bones to rid himself of it.  But he was human again, and he could give warning.

"Mercy!" exclaimed Pomfrey, overlapping with McGonagall's "For Merlin's sake!" and nearly overwhelming Dumbledore's calm, "Good evening, Lucius."

Staring up into Dumbledore's eyes, Lucius forced out, "Buttress the wards.  Warn Severus.  He is betrayed."  He gasped for air, then managed, "Protect my son!"  The words mingled command with heartfelt plea, but he didn't see the result.  Fire broke over him in a wave and his eyes rolled up in his head as his body convulsed.

 

In the library, head buried in a book on advanced arithmancy in a vain attempt to shake off the sense of dread he'd been feeling since waking up that morning, Draco Malfoy suddenly doubled over in pain.  His left hand clamped over the bracelet around his right wrist, where a bolt of energy had just seared him.  Standing up so quickly he knocked over the bench, ignoring Madam Pince's interrogatory glare, he forced himself to peel his fingers away and stare down at the engraving on the platinum band.

A dragon's head, for himself.  A snarling lynx, for his father.  A long-stemmed flower with a fluted trumpet at the center, for his mother.

The stem was snapped, the petals fallen.

The snarl was a grimace of agony, a face of impending death.  And it was glowing.

His father was here.  At Hogwarts.  Injured.

His mother...

His mother was dead.

Draco ran to the infirmary faster than he'd ever run anywhere in his life.

Dimly behind him he heard his Head of House calling to him, but he didn't slow down.  There was no time.

Something was terribly wrong.

Draco skidded into the infirmary, nearly falling as he saw what he'd feared; his father, lying ill in a bed at Dumbledore's mercy.  Pushing his way to Lucius' side, he hesitantly reached out.  Placed his hand on one shaking shoulder and said numbly, "Father?"  Then said more softly, "Mother?"

Dumbledore tried to pull him away, as Pomfrey took up her wand, and sturdy cloth came up from the sides of the bed to bind Lucius' thrashing body down.  A soft pad of cloth forced its way between his jaws, another cradled his head, as Pomfrey did what she could to stop the seizures.  Draco fought Dumbledore's hold, only to freeze when he heard Professor Snape's steely quiet, "Draco.  Cease.  Calm yourself."

He raised blurry eyes to stare helplessly at Snape, who stood beside him, clutching one arm with the other and staring down at Lucius.  Without a word, Draco lifted his arm and showed Snape the bracelet.

Snape's face softened, and he shook his head regretfully.  "I am sorry, Draco," he said gently.  Then Lucius arched so violently the cot shifted, and there was no more time for sympathy, only fear, as Draco looked fearfully at his father and wondered if he would be twice bereaved that day.

 

Severus Snape winced and clutched his arm, knees nearly buckling from the intensity of the Dark Lord's displeasure.  He didn't know what had set Voldemort off, but he had to find out.  On his way to find Dumbledore, in the infirmary with some recent arrivals at the school that had the pupils whispering, before answering his master's call, he saw Draco Malfoy tearing like a mad thing up the stairs.  The boy looked awful, eyes huge in a face so pale he looked dead, hair flying about his head as if he'd been clutching it, an unheard-of occurrence with the vain young man.

He was heading for the infirmary.

Snape had a very bad feeling about all this.  He didn't believe in coincidence.  He did believe in sheer rotten luck.  And he knew whatever he found in that infirmary, he wasn't going to like.

A fresh wave of white-hot pain pulsed through his arm, thence through his body, and he took a deep breath.  Mounted the steps as quickly as he could and swept into the infirmary.

Then stopped so suddenly in his tracks he nearly fell over, at the sight of Lucius Malfoy, face twisted in pain, being restrained by Poppy Pomfrey and Albus Dumbledore.  Next to him stood Draco, looking as if he might fall over any moment.  On the cot next to him lay an obviously-tortured Arthur Weasley.

Well.  It would appear their secret arrangement was no longer a secret.  Lucius had saved one too many of Albus' spies.

Taking a deep breath, Severus walked forward just as Albus reached out and attempted to draw Draco back out of Poppy's way so she could tend to Lucius.  Draco fought him, tears starting to run down his cheeks, mouth pulled back in a snarl he'd definitely inherited from his father.  Severus rushed forward and put a restraining hand on Draco's shoulder.

"Draco.  Cease.  Calm yourself."

The boy looked up at him, then mutely showed him the engraved plate on the sigillum bracelet enclosing his right wrist.  The sign Severus recognized for Lucius was gravely injured, near death, personified by the writhing body of the wizard before them.  The sign for Narcissa was permanently disfigured, an unmistakable indication that she was dead.  Severus closed his eyes.

Oh, yes.  Far from secret.  Exposed and exploded, in fact.

"I am sorry, Draco."

Within the space of a heartbeat, the vitriol eating at his body from the Dark Mark intensified unbearably.  At the same time, Lucius convulsed.  Severus could barely see him through the dimming of his own eyesight.

This was not the way he'd intended to die.

"Hold on, Lucius!" Dumbledore was shouting, as Draco whimpered, "Father!" beside him, and Severus fought to breathe, his heart feeling as if it would be torn apart in his chest.

"Too strong," he gasped, trying his best not to scream in sheer agony.  "Can't fight it much longer!"

From very far away, he heard Potter's voice say steadily, "I can."

Then a band of steel to match the one around his chest clamped about his forearm, and Severus felt as if his soul was being sucked out through the Mark.

He hadn't known he'd had enough soul left for it to hurt that badly.

 

Curled up in a large chair in the Gryffindor common room, Harry tried to ignore the headache that had been nagging him all evening and concentrate on his Transfigurations text.  He'd been working outside the curriculum with Sirius, following the family tradition, and was looking for tips on how to control his reaction to prolonged time spent in his illicit animagus form.

His godfather gave him all the help he could, but he was a dog.  He didn't have much of a clue how to handle being a kestrel.  Harry grinned at memories of the last time they'd played together, Padfoot leaping and snapping, trying to catch a tail feather as Harry dive-bombed him from above.

Mid-memory, the vague ache turned into a bludger to the skull, and Harry dropped his book to clap both hands to his forehead.  "Bugger!" he yelped, then stumbled to his feet, ignoring the cries from his friends, clustering around him, pelting him with questions.  Following an impulse he didn't have the wits left to question, he ran from the room, leaving the others in his dust.

He didn't know where he was going until he got there.  When he did, he stared in sick fascination at Lucius Malfoy, with his son and Snape to one side of his bed and Dumbledore at the other, then at Arthur Weasley, looking like he'd been run over by a lorry, dead to the world in the next bed.

"Can't fight it much longer," Snape was saying.

"I can," Harry answered, walking to stand at the foot of Malfoy's bed.

In the dead silence that greeted him, he followed the instinct that had been guiding him since his head tried to split open.  Walking to stand next to Snape, Harry reached out, wrapping his right hand around Snape's left forearm and his left hand around Lucius'.

"What on earth are you doing?" Draco spluttered.  Oddly enough, or perhaps not so surprisingly, Dumbledore didn't say a word, simply watched him.

"What I do best," Harry said with a certainty he didn't completely understand, even as he knew he could do this.  "Tossing that bastard's hatred right back in his face."

With that, he shut his eyes, felt the malevolence pulsing through the fire-hot marks beneath his palms, and concentrated on the pain spiking through his skull.  Death cries filled his head, his mother's, his father's, Cedric's, Malfoy's, Snape's, Harry's own.  Pushing back against that wall of darkness with everything he had in him, Harry screamed, "Not this time, you won't!"

 

It was a gathering of magic unlike anything Albus had felt in a very long, very adventurous life.  Anger, yes, and madness, determination and pain, and a pure refusal to yield the likes of which he'd never imagined.  Magic became visible on the air as Harry and Voldemort fought over the lives of Lucius and Severus.  It glowed through the skin where hands met arms, the malignant red-black of the evil Marks expanding then contracting as Harry drew upon the rebellion in Lucius and Severus against their former master to strengthen his own natural force.

Really, Voldemort hadn't a chance.

Particularly when Dumbledore placed a hand at the base of Harry's skull and poured his own strong defensive magic into the mix.

Silver mist rose from Lucius, matched by emerald green from Severus and bright crimson from Harry, woven together by deep royal blue from Albus.  It swirled over the four wizards, Harry's hands tightening on Severus and Lucius' arms until his knuckles turned white, before it disappeared with a blinding crack.

Albus stumbled back, grateful for Minerva's strong hand at his back.  Harry collapsed at young Draco's feet, while Severus staggered but remained standing, staring at his unblemished forearm in shock.  On the cot, the seizures had stopped, and Lucius lay peacefully unconscious.

As Albus watched, catching his breath, Poppy bustled over and began tending to Lucius' wounds.  He'd been thrashing too hard for her to adequately treat him before.  Draco, moving slowly, no doubt in shock himself if what Albus suspected was true and he had lost his mother that day, leaned down to wrap an arm around Harry and haul him to the cart next to Lucius'.

Poppy turned to Harry next, clucking over him and exclaiming in disbelief, "Well, whatever he did, it doesn't appear to have damaged him.  He'll no doubt want to sleep for a week but otherwise he's fine!"

Albus smiled and shook his head.  What a very interesting day it was proving to be.

"What happened?" Arthur suddenly asked, sounding quite groggy.

Albus glanced at Severus, now checking Lucius' arm to find it as free of the Dark Mark as his own, then to Draco, hovering by Harry's bed looking confused and near the end of his tether, then back to Arthur.

"We were rather hoping you could tell us that, Arthur."

He'd not got two sentences into his explanation when Albus realized the wards were at risk.  With a brisk, "We'll get back to this as soon as possible, Arthur," he headed for the door, Minerva at his heels, calling for Flitwick as he did.

The rest of the night was spent shoring up the wards, changing the foundation spells and securing Hogwarts from possible incursion by Voldemort or his Death Eaters.  By the time they finished, they'd missed breakfast, and Albus felt as if he, too, could sleep for a week.

Walking into his office, he smiled wryly at the sight of Fawkes, perched on Severus' shoulder, rubbing the top of his head against the wizard's cheek.  For once, Severus appeared not to mind the phoenix's affectionate attentions.

"How did he do it, Albus?" Severus asked quietly.  "I feel... free.  Ridiculous as it sounds, impossible as it is to believe.  How did that child break my leash?  And Lucius', too?"

"Harry is a survivor, Severus," Albus answered as quietly, settling with relief for his aching bones into his well-padded chair.  "He had his mother's love, he had my support, he had your desire to be free and he had Lucius' will to survive, but in the end, it comes down to the strength of one young wizard's determination.  Voldemort was sending a killing curse through those marks as surely as he sent a killing curse against Lily, against the infant Harry.  Harry has the unique ability to somehow rebound that particular curse, feeding that deadly energy back to its source.  The first time he did this, he saved his own life.  This time, he saved two others.  As you have saved his in the past.  A wizard's debt is a complex and unimaginably powerful thing."

"As Lucius saved mine, many times over."

Severus slowly rose from his seat and began to pace.  Fawkes trilled at the loss of the hand petting his feathers, but returned to his perch behind the desk with no further protest.  Albus stared at Severus for a moment, waiting for further explication; when none was offered, he prodded delicately.

"Is there something you need to tell me, my boy?"

Severus sent him a quick look, equal parts exasperation and capitulation.  "How do you think I survived spying for you since the Dark Lord's return?"  Not waiting for an answer, Severus swept back to stand in front of the desk, leaning his fists against the polished wooden surface.  "Voldemort is insane.  Paranoid, sadistic, and completely insane.  I would not have survived my re-initiation, much less the number of close calls I've had since, without assistance.  Highly placed, unimpeachable, absolutely secret assistance."

"From Lucius." Albus said it for him.  Severus nodded.  "Why?"

"A simple question, with as many answers as a Malfoy has motivations," Severus replied dryly.  "The fact remains, Lucius saved my life on many occasions, and was responsible for feeding me some of the most useful information the Order has received in the last several years."

Albus nodded his understanding.  "Why then did he reveal himself now?"

"Clear and immediate danger to his son," Severus answered promptly.  "While you were reconfiguring the wards, I had a long talk with Lucius, and a shorter but no less informative chat with Arthur Weasley.  Lucius believed that Voldemort would stop at nothing to kill Potter, and since Weasley gave up enough of the secrets of the Hogwarts defenses to make an assault possible, Lucius knew that anyone who got in Voldemort's way would die.  Given that anywhere Potter is, Draco is sure to be nearby, Lucius knew his son could well be killed in the attack."

"One cannot blame Arthur," Albus chided gently.

"I'm well aware of how... convincing Death Eaters can be when extracting information," Severus said stiffly.  He folded his arms over his chest and glared down his nose.

Albus winced slightly.  "It was not a criticism, Severus."  That earned him a snort, so he changed the subject before the conversation got any further off track.  "So you trust Lucius?"

"With my life," was the immediate response.

To get such unqualified support from a Slytherin was high praise indeed.  Albus gave Severus a measuring look.  He trusted Severus.  And, within the parameters of the inherent qualities of the man, he could trust Lucius Malfoy.

He would simply keep a very close eye on him.

That night, after a long day made longer by exhaustion and chaotic activity, Albus stared up at the enchanted stars circling the canopy of his bed and made contingency plans.  The field of battle had shifted, and he would shift with it.

 

It was mid-morning when Lucius opened his eyes again.  After the Potter brat did... whatever he'd done... to remove the Dark Mark, Lucius slept for hours.  Severus woke him with breakfast, and over toast and tea Lucius and Arthur filled him in on the events of the previous day.

Now, after a too-short nap, a strident voice he'd last heard through a fireplace woke him.  Molly Weasley sat by her husband's side, one hand holding his, the other petting his hair, his bruised face, his shoulder, any part of him she could reach.  He bore her fussing with good will and a fond smile on his face.

Lucius shut his eyes as soon as he'd taken the measure of the situation, but it was too late.  She'd seen him and came round the bed, intent on talking to him.  Keeping his eyes tightly shut, hoping by ignoring her she'd go away, he did his best to feign sleep.

Obviously, the woman had too many children, because not only did she not believe his pretense, she had the heaviest stare he'd ever felt outside Voldemort himself.  Eventually, telling himself he was being gracious, not caving in, Lucius sighed and opened his eyes.

Molly looked as if she didn't know whether to hit him or kiss him.  Either option revolted Lucius completely.  "What?" he demanded haughtily.

Strangely, this provoked a beaming smile.  The woman was stark raving mad.

"It's a good thing you've done, Lucius Malfoy, and I thank you from the bottom of my heart for saving my husband's life.  And for the warning you had him give, too."  Her smile disappeared, and storm clouds gathered in her eyes.  "I'd barely left the house when a bunch of Death Eaters," she spat the name as if it were poison, "plowed through the Burrow.  Heaven knows what's left after those pigs got through."

Lucius managed not to raise his brow with disdain from sheer force of habit, but Molly didn't notice.  She kept talking, about apparating and running and what she was going to do with those cowardly etc when she got hold of them etc... Lucius tuned out the words and let the tone wash over him.

She reminded him unnervingly of a Scottish nanny he'd had when he was young.  Until his father irritated her one time too often and she left.  It had taken them years to rid the Manor of the hex traps she'd left behind, none of which harmed a hair on Lucius' head and all of which made his father go spare.  It had been rather fun to watch, not that he'd ever let on.  After all, his father practiced Cruciatus for fun.  On anyone.  Including his heir, if he was angry enough.

Gradually he realized that it was silent, and Molly was giving him another unnerving smile.  He gulped, then covered his slight loss of composure with a small sneer.

The crazy woman laughed.  Actually laughed at him.  Lucius stared at her, nonplussed.  Then to his complete horror she leaned forward and bussed him on the cheek, for all the world as if he were a four year old.  If he hadn't actually swallowed his tongue in affront at her actions it was a near thing.  Stunned speechless, he could do nothing but lay there and wait until she'd dithered herself to a stop and returned to her husband.

Who in turn gave him a revoltingly commiserating look.  With a genteel snort, Lucius closed his eyes, turned on his side, and ignored them both.  Luckily for them, Arthur was then released into her care, and they left the infirmary. If they'd stayed much longer -- if that woman had dared to lay her lips on him again -- conversion to the side of the Light be damned, he'd've hexed them both.

He tried not to think of how warm her lips had been against his skin.  He was not a man for casual affection.  It had been a very long time since anyone had touched him with anything less than calculation, and vice versa.  It was... unnerving.

A very long hour of pretending to be asleep later, the infirmary was finally quiet.  Lucius opened his eyes and rolled back over to face the room.

Then gave a nearly imperceptible start at finding his son, sitting in the chair beside his bed, looking unusually solemn.  Lucius cleared his throat.

"Son," he began, then felt his throat closing as Draco took a deep breath.

"Is it true?  Did you change loyalties... to protect me?"  He looked stricken at the thought.  "Is that why Mother was killed?"

This was harder than Lucius had anticipated.  While there was little love between himself and his wife, there had been mutual goals and shared respect.  And Draco had loved his mother, as she had loved him.  Lucius reached out and very lightly touched the back of Draco's hand.

"I did what I did for all of us, son," he finally said.  "The Dark Lord had become dangerous.  His objectives had strayed too far from ours.  You were in immediate peril, true, but you mustn't feel responsible for my choices.  Our family survives because we do what we must to preserve ourselves and our beliefs.  Voldemort no longer promoted those beliefs, and was willing to sacrifice my son for his petty revenge."  His voice shook with anger when he said those words, and he stopped a moment to regain his control.

Draco took advantage of the pause to ask, "And Mother?"

"Your mother was aware of and gave great assistance to my efforts," Lucius assured Draco.  "She loved you, and she would do anything, sacrifice anything, to keep you safe."

"Even herself," Draco whispered.

"Even herself," Lucius affirmed.

The shattered look on his son's face led Lucius to do what he hadn't done since the boy was a toddler, and take him in his arms.  Holding Draco as he silently grieved for his mother, Lucius waited out the storm.  He had plans to make, new alliances to forge, and a new life to create.

Most of all, however, he had an enemy to kill.

 

Nearly a week passed before Pomfrey declared Lucius well enough to leave hospital.  He'd been kept in seclusion, and the only people who knew he was at Hogwarts were his son, his best friend, the Weasley couple and the three faculty who'd been in the infirmary when he'd transformed from his animagus shape.  Dumbledore, McGonagall and the mediwitch had kept a tight lid on security, neither Arthur nor Molly would breathe a word, and regardless of the wild rumors spreading over the school since Arthur's dramatic appearance, no one else knew of his presence at the school.

Except, of course, Voldemort and every one of his Death Eaters, who now without doubt were champing at the bit to earn the Dark Lord's bounty on him.

Which led to the current meeting.  The agenda was simple: what shall we do with Lucius?  Everyone had an opinion, and Dumbledore let them all ramble until Lucius' wand hand was itching.  Hexes were building up behind his teeth, ready to be flung.  Severus sent him a wicked glance, and Lucius knew at least one person in the room was aware how close to being cursed the rest of them were.

His tolerance had reached the limit.  As it was about to snap, as if Dumbledore could read his mind, the old wizard cleared his throat.  Silence, blessed silence, fell.

"We are clear on what needs to be done, then, if not as clear on how precisely to do it," he said, tone brooking no argument and receiving none.  "We must protect our people.  Severus and Lucius must stay at the school for their own safety.  To the world at large, it must appear as if Lucius has gone missing; Draco will inherit the Malfoy holdings, and it is imperative that he not fall into Voldemort's hands, both for his own good and because he could be used as a weapon against Lucius and by extension the Order."

Lucius' ears pricked at this, but before he could seek clarification, Dumbledore continued.

"We must keep anyone outside the Order from knowing of Harry's... unusual talent for rebounding spells back on Voldemort.  It might be the weapon we've been looking for all this time is right beneath our noses.  It will be illuminating to discover the effects of last night's... activities... on Voldemort himself."

An outbreak of discussion was easily quelled by one raised hand.  Dumbledore twinkled at them, provoking a sneer Lucius really couldn't hold back.  No one else saw it, and Dumbledore simply twinkled harder in response.

"Finally, Lucius must stay undercover.  He has been of inestimable value to our efforts in the past, and I have no doubt he will be an invaluable resource for us in the future."

"And how are we supposed to do that, Albus?" McGonagall asked.  "He's not exactly inconspicuous."

Lucius was trying to work out if he'd just been complimented or insulted by the old bat when Severus answered, "Lupin has a pet.  So too can I."

That derailed his train of thought.  Lucius stared at Severus, aghast, and got a smirk to rival his own in return.  Severus leaned over and whispered, "This will be fun."

"You've spent too long in the dungeons breathing fumes," Lucius responded, trying to figure out how any of this could be categorized as 'fun'.

"It's all settled then," Dumbledore pronounced.  "We'll leave Severus and Lucius to settle in."

With one last too-amused smile he walked out of the infirmary, McGonagall beside him, still shooting unconvinced looks over her shoulder at Lucius.  Pomfrey began to bustle again, and Lucius got out of her way.

With a disgruntled sigh, Lucius told Severus, "Don't even think about getting me a collar, or I'll chew your head off."  Shifting to his lynx-form, he followed his new 'master' out the door.

Halfway to the dungeons, Lucius felt his hackles rise.  Dog.  And worse.  Wolf.  His ears flattened and his fur rippled.  His tail puffed up and began to flick back and forth.  A low growl began in his chest.

Remus Lupin and a large black dog rounded the corner.  Lupin had sense enough to stop and look, with some disbelief, at the lynx crouching next to Severus' leg.

"What on earth?" he asked.

"My new pet.  Er, Whiskers," Severus replied, looking down his nose.

Meanwhile, the dog, idiot that he was, had bounded over to Lucius, attempting to look threatening.  Lucius glared at him.  The dog puffed out his chest and growled.

Lucius swiped him across the nose.  Claws fully extended.

His yelps ringing off the stone walls, the dog tucked his tail between his back legs and ran in the opposite direction.  Remus watched as his dog disappeared, then turned to face Lucius.

"Whiskers, hm?" he asked Severus.  "He's... lovely.  Good evening, Severus."  He turned on his heel and followed his long-gone dog, a thoughtful expression on his face.

Severus gave a delighted, rather wicked chuckle, and continued on to his, now their, rooms.  Once safely inside, privacy and silencing wards activated, Lucius transformed and glared at his friend.

"Whiskers?" he asked, ice dripping from the words.

"I told you it would be fun," Severus said, ignoring him, still chuckling.  "I think this could be the beginning of some long overdue revenge."

Lucius thought about that for a long moment, then allowed a smirk to escape.  "You could be right.  This might be fun after all."

Not a contingency he'd planned for, but that was the beauty of plans.  They could always be changed.

END

**notes**:

Regarding Alsvid, from Norse Myths: Gods of the Vikings re-told by Kevin Crossley-Hollands (Penguin, 1982):  "Sun follows behind [the moon]. One of her horses is called Arvak because he rises so early, and the other Alsvid because he is immensely strong."

The 'giant's grave' refers to unusual hog-back stones in St. Andrew's churchyard at Penrith in the Lake District.  The Malfoy property in that area dates back to the same time period as the oldest part of Hutton-in-the-Forest, an absolutely gorgeous house northwest of Penrith that includes a 13th century tower, built to withstand invaders from Scotland.  It's the kind of house a Malfoy would have, only without the dark magic objects!


End file.
